Smile In My Face
by scooter13
Summary: Sort of companion piece to "There's Something Here."  Gob loves her even though sometimes it's hard to understand why.


Just another little quickie inspired by Grenade by Bruno Mars. Warning: Not-quite BDSM, but still rough. If not your thing, please do not read. For everyone else, enjoy!

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This time.

He watches her walk into Underworld and stands before he dejectedly sits down again as she breezes up the stairs to Carol's Place with her over-grown body guard. But as she walks up the stairs, pale hand sliding along the nicked wooden banister, her ponytail shifts slightly, grazing over the base of her neck and she looks at him. A small wink and secretive smile and then she is turning back to her path, the walking wall obediently following behind her and muttering.

She comes to him, in his little room behind Winthrope's. Carol offered him a place, but he didn't want her to see this, didn't want her to know. Now the little minx, Lone Wanderer, Saint from Vault 101 or whatever moniker she is currently known as stands in front of him. She pulls her hair from her ponytail and shakes the clean strands out. Smiling and lowering her chin, looking up through thick lashes, her blue eyes sparkle as she undoes the dirty suit she wears everywhere.

Her lips press against his and he groans, mangled hands coming up and grasping her slim waist, rough skin catching at the thin material of her shift. Murky eyes close and he can imagine she'll stay with him, even though he knows her eyes will remain open, her mind firmly rational. He had asked her once why she never closed her eyes, but she only shook her head and said it wasn't fair. She never said why and he was too scared to ask again.

She hikes up the tight pencil skirt, straddling him and rubbing herself against the dirty and worn trousers. He opens his eyes and she grins, leaning down and licking along the rough skin of his neck. The first time she played with his skin, he didn't know whether to push her away or pull her closer; it was new and terrifying that such a gorgeous and young thing like her would be interested in him. But she had many interests, he found, and he tamped down his jealousy every time because he needed her.

He had asked her once to take him with her, had told her he could learn to protect her. She'd looked at him, her skin glistening with sweat and face pink with exertion. Faster than he could comprehend, he'd found himself with his cheek against the ground, her small form pinning him down and twisting his arm painfully. "If you can't fight me, how can you protect me?" she'd hissed, her voice suddenly all venom. She'd pushed away and dressed quickly, offering him one last glance before she'd left him on the ground.

The next time he'd seen her, she acted like nothing had happened, no apology or acknowledgment and he'd let it go, had accepted her warmth and tightness even as bite marks and bruises faded from her neck and thighs. He could never do that, could never be that rough and she had at first been disappointed. He offered to let her show him, and she had, with much enthusiasm. Too much, but she had enjoyed it and so he let her hold him down, let her bite his skin and push him to his limits.

Now, he lay on the bed, she sucking his cock as her small hand squeezes the base and denies him release. It's painful, but he endured worse at Moriarty's and he can't imagine what he would do if she stopped coming to him, so he allows the pain. He feels a long finger push against his ass and can't help the sharp intake of breath. She swallows him deep and he groans his submission, trying to let go of the sheets he has a death grip on. Her finger pushes into him, and then it's two and he hisses, because it's painful and intrusive.

"Too much?" she asks, but she pushes them deeper, looking up at him with bright blue eyes. He shakes his head, gripping the sheets and biting his lip. She hums and twists her fingers, crooking them and he's arching off the bed, nearly making her lose her grip on his cock as she brushes over that spot over and over. But he can't come and she loves the power his whines bring her. She tries to push him, over and over to scream or cry out, let the entire world know what they are doing. But he has experience keeping quiet, and so constantly disappoints and excites her.

She removes her fingers and wipes them against his thigh and he looks down his mangled body at her golden head. She sits up and strokes his cock, squeezing him harder before letting go. "If you come, I'll leave," she threatens, and he wonders if this is what everyone else sees; wonders if her eyes shine as viciously or her hair settles around her shoulders so perfectly when she is outside of his room. He wonders why they call her a saint when she scratches her hand down his chest, catching his rough skin and making him whine.

He wonders what good deeds she does that make people ignore the way her lips seem to naturally curl into that cruel smirk as she slides down his body and bites his hip bone. But he knows, because she saved him from Moriarty with simpering looks and soft smiles; so different from the dark glances and twisted smirks she saves for him. Her eyes widen and she grins, manic and wide, her gaze too bright. Standing, he watches her walk to the small tool bench and retrieve a small piece of plastic tubing. She returns and then she's tying it around the base of his cock, her long fingers sure as she ties the knot and makes sure it's just uncomfortable enough.

He grunts as she bites her lip and slides her pencil skirt down, her hand pressing against her pubic hair and sliding between her lips. He tries to sit up, but she straddles him and grasps his chin in her strong hand, forcing his face up. She looks at him, her eyes searching for something and it's heartbreaking how much he loves her. She sees something and he hopes it's not what he thinks it is, but her fingers tighten cruelly before pushing his face away, forcing his head back down to the bed.

He flops down, resigned and wanting as she positions herself above him, her heat and wetness teasing him before she sets down on him fast. He cries out, needing to orgasm so badly, but the tubing won't allow him and she moans, her head thrown back. She starts a brutal pace, panting as she pushes herself up on his chest, her hands pressing into his chest and restricting his breath. Her fingernails dig into his exposed muscle, the rubbery skin tough against her onslaught.

She rides him hard, occasionally rubbing herself against the rough skin at the base of his cock, her hips moving in small circles. He needs to come so badly, his teeth gritted and exposed in a grimace. His hands come up and grip her hips, pushing into her and she moans, her head falling forward and long hair brushing his body. He reaches up and tugs at the strands, her sharp blue eyes finding his own dulled brown.

She narrows her eyes and smirks, riding him harder, one hand leaving his chest and fitting between their bodies. She brings herself to orgasm quickly, head thrown back, cry ripped from her throat. She tightens and he needs to come, but he can't and he hisses. She gasps and sits back, her wetness and heat too much for his sensitized skin. Pushing her off, he ignores her gasp and unties the knot with shaking hands, his breath rough.

Before she can speak, he's turned on her, ruined face twisted into a feral snarl and her eyes widen, breath quickening. He reaches for her and jerks her forward, twisting his hand into her perfect, golden hair and pushing her down. He groans when her warm mouth envelopes him, her small hands pressing against his thighs, fingernails digging into his ruined skin and exposed muscle. He moves her up and down, ignoring the choked gasps and gurgles until he comes, groaning loudly with the release.

Semen dribbles down her chin, tears pooling in her eyes and running down her flushed cheeks. But she is triumphant, her blue eyes bright and perfect skin glowing. She sits back, little pink tongue flicking out and lapping up the salty liquid, retreating into a dark mouth hidden behind a darker smirk.

"Good boy," she purrs, leaning up and kissing his cheek. He stares at her with disgust, watches her dress quickly and wipes her mouth before she turns to leave. Thinks back to all the pain and humiliation, everything he had done and given to her, and every time she beat him down, pushed him to the limit until he became what she wanted and took what she was always willing to give but preferred that rough push instead of a gentle caress.

"I love you," he chokes out, the admission painful as it is every time, and the silence afterward hollow as usual. But she doesn't speak, as she normally would, and he looks up, wary and surprised. She stands at the door, staring at the frosted glass as if she could actually see something through it and he wonders what will happen, wonders if this is where everything changes.

But she only shakes her head after a short while and turns to him, her head cocked. He watches her and she him, her perfect blue eyes cold and bright; his murky brown warm and broken. But something breaks in her this time, her eyes lowering and he is surprised. "I love you, too," she whispers and turns away, opening the door and closing it quietly.

And that is why he waits for her, sitting or standing and wiping glasses, taking her when she comes and letting her go when she is finished. He loves her, and she knows this, uses it against him time and time again; beats him until he's numb and twists him until he's what she needs, but at the end of the day, the easy lie falls from her lips with more and more honesty and every time she leaves him, her eyes are kinder.

She departs the next day with a small smile, her bodyguard again behind her and grumbling, the previous nights' torture and admission forgotten or pushed aside, and he feels that little bit of crumbling hope squeeze again.

Next time.

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I hope y'all enjoy! R&R appreciated as always!


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